That Day as Well
by jadelitfireflies
Summary: When Spike's father dies, he must follow in his footsteps as a member of the syndicate. The softer mention of her name ("Julia...") was still a threat. Vicious' silence was heavy... lest she say something... reprehensible...
1. Prologue

Author's Note: I apologize for how short this is, but I wanted to get feedback on the actual idea before continuing. Constructive criticism is appreciated.

Disclaimer: I don't own Cowboy Bebop, I promise. 

**That Day as Well**

**by**** jadelitfireflies**

**Prologue**

            The accident, when it happened, was terrible. The way the other car swung through the intersection seemed natural, almost predestined; the spray of glass was ethereal in its beauty until the car in which his parents were riding crumpled like a soda can and after flipping over twice or three times lay perfectly still.

            His seven-year-old eyes had not been unstained by the sight or smell of blood. He was a child of the syndicate, of violence - he knew what his father did and admired him, not because he could kill without thought or regret, but because people looked up to him for it. And while he was out, and Spike was left all alone in their clean, safe, one-roomed apartment, he found himself watching Bruce Lee movies, play-fighting any number of opponents. He compared the two, Bruce Lee and his father, and wanted both of their skills; he tried to train himself, cursing his at-first slow reflexes and watching his father all he could. He had become obsessed with it.

            So when it happened, and the sound of the crash brought him to the window, everything in his world became at once unbalanced. Peeking through the blinds, his eyes widened in horror. And he knew, without a doubt, his parents were dead.


	2. Russet

As always, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. If you have anything you would like to say, don't hesitate to say it. ^.~

Disclaimer: I don't own Cowboy Bebop; I promise.

**That Day as Well**

**by**** jadelitfirefles**

**One.**** (Russet.)**

            No matter how hard he tried to stop them, the memories flitted across the back of his mind. He found himself trapped in places he could not get out of - lost on a plain, without any way home - walking up an endless flight of stairs, or simply falling down them, holding in his guts as his surroundings plummeted beneath his feet. But mostly, he dreamt of sitting silently in a dark, damp-smelling church, feeling as if he was the only one alive in the face of the two coffins near the altar. The figures in the stained glass windows mocked him; without words, they shamed him into submission. The martyrs had died without any resistance - they had not struggled against their bonds - and so he had no right to self-pity. He wouldn't have cried, anyway. That was his father over there. The strongest member, in his opinion, of the syndicate. Bruce Lee in actual flesh and blood, not just a pile of dust and bones on a planet half-destroyed by the stupidity of the human race.

            And so it was almost unbelievable that his dad had been killed by a taxi cab. Ironic. It made him feel vulnerable, but he didn't like that feeling, so he replaced it immediately with a sort of nihilism. And nothing was important anymore. He was calm now, he was sarcastic and sly - until he fell asleep, and everything flooded back unwelcome like a flash of cold, bitter air.

            Of course, it didn't help when he woke up to a new room in a new house. It smelled different. He ate different food. And no one spoke of his mother or father; not Mao, not Annie, not anyone. Even in Spike's dreams he was no longer living. Well, that's what happened when a member of the Red Dragons died. No one had ever known them.

            He was young, then, too. For all of his apathy he heard what those around him were saying without seeming to listen. Secretly, he looked up to Mao and his Anastasia - without ever needing to tell them, he had decided: if there was anyone worth dying for, they were the ones. They had, anyway, let him live in their house. And he'd always remember that day, as well.

            "Spike? Do you want me to call you Spike?"

            Raising his russet-colored eyes beneath a shock of neat green hair, he gave a shrug.

            "Would you like to come live with us?" The lady, his father's sister, was large but sounded nice. He stared at her and then at Mao before studying his shoes.

            "Spike." The man's voice was drenched in pity as he bent down to grasp his shoulders. Spike wrenched away.

           "Come on, let's go," Annie smiled. No anger. No disappointment. And just like that he had been given a new identity. He had been reinstated into existence. 

            The nightmare ended abruptly. He stared at the ceiling, placing two fingers on his neck, counting the beats of his heart to the ticking of a clock on the wall. Distracted, he quit half-way. What was that noise?

            Partially dressed, he bounded downstairs while slipping a shirt over his head. The kitchen came into view. Some woman was crying hysterically, with Annie trying to comfort her - who was that?

            "Just - just take care of him! I can't take..."        

            The lady sobbed, and when Annie reached out to her, she backed out the door. He heard footsteps retreating in the rain. It was always raining on Mars.

            "Hold on a minute - "    

            "Let her go." Mao was standing by the far wall, massaging his temples. It was only then, really, that Spike saw the figure sitting at the table. Cautiously, the green-haired boy moved closer as Mao continued: "We knew this would happen, just not this soon. And especially after - "

            "Stop it." Annie had noticed him. "Why, good afternoon, Spike. Glad you could join - "

            "Who's that?" he grunted, sitting across from the stranger. There was silence.

            And slowly, methodically, the person began to raise their head. An odd shock of grayish-white hair. This was an old man?

            Spike gasped, quietly. _Those eyes_...

            Cold, snake-like. The other boy smirked at him with... what was that? Anger? A threat? Hate? _Familiarity..._

            He identified himself.

            "...Vicious."

            _He knew. _


	3. Sanctuary

Author's Note: I apologize for the long wait between chapters! But I had finals, my birthday, the holidays, and then the first week of the new semester to deal with. Also, I had a problem writing this chapter for some reason... Anyway, I'll do better in the future, I promise! ^_^

As always, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. If you have anything at all you would like to say, please don't hesitate to tell me.

Disclaimer: I don't own Cowboy Bebop or its characters. (I wish I did, though!)

**That Day as Well**

**by jadelitfireflies**

**Two.**** (Sanctuary.)**

His sight trailed restlessly up the walls, skipping over the carved figures of angels, before fixing on a point somewhere near the altar. This church was made of stone and was thus unshakeable, even if he tried to burn a hole in it with his eyes out of boredom. That boy sitting next to him, he was his brother, wasn't he? It seemed so abstract. _Vicious_. Well, at least it was obvious their father had named them. But - his father and another woman? That was impossible, he told the ceiling, but there he was, the offending proof's breathing resting hastily and angrily near his shoulder. 

            Since Vicious had started living with them, inhabiting the gray room next to his own, Annie had attempted to make him part of their "family," although Mao had appraised the boy at first and found him lacking. ...Family. Spike clung to the idea out of a type of spite. And Annie had sent them to catechism, because syndicate kids just didn't _go_ to church. Unless they were blowing it up, or something.

            So it seemed so useless, sitting there, even if Shin and Lin were there that day, as well. Spike slouched down until his clunky blue shoes could find a place on the pew ahead of him. Vicious sat in a frozen and rigid manner, a bit of hair bleeding into his eyes. They'd sat like that, of course, for the entire span of two hours - and consequently, the green-haired boy had learned the art of sleeping with his eyes open.

            "The hell are you going?" Stirred by the movement next to him, he had noticed Vicious standing. He didn't answer.

            "It's over, Spike." Shin jumped over the church pew to the displeasure of their teacher. "We can finally get out of this place," he murmured, stretching. 

            Lin was having problems copying his brother and got stuck halfway. "Where's Vicious?"

            Spike shrugged.

            "You should come over to our house! We just got a new puppy, and - "

            "The orphanage let you have a dog?"

            The two boys stared at him for a moment. Lin shifted into a sitting position while Spike inwardly winced... he'd been told not to mention that. He knew that. Nobody mentioned - 

            "Everybody takes care of it one day a week. Today's our day... we should probably go now, shouldn't we, Lin?"

            His younger brother nodded, and they left.

            "Shit." Placing his hands in his pockets, Spike looked around for his brother. If he wasn't in the sanctuary... there really wasn't anywhere to go but up to the choir loft. 

            So, slowly, he made his way to the stairs. It was dark in there, like a crypt - no one ever bothered to turn the lights on for street kids, especially when the orphanage was involved. Most light came from one, solitary stained glass window, and as the metallic sounds echoed about him, marking his passage, everything eventually became more visible. And then, in a way, more stable. 

            What was that - singing? He stopped to listen. Hn, it sounded sad. Well, he'd had enough of that. But who was singing it, really? Peeking over the rail, he saw her.

            He just watched, for a moment, taking the sight of her in - her skin was flawless in the chapel light, golden-colored hair resting down the length of her back as she sung softly. She seemed to be waiting for something. The girl shifted from one foot to the other, then spinning, but in a way which made her seem... bored, or angry.

            "Julia?"

            Most people would have ducked, but he stood his ground. The choir mistress had come out of her office, turning the lights off - 

            "What are you still doing here?"

            The girl - Julia, he noted - balanced on one foot. "I'm supposed to stay here... until someone picks me up..."

            "Do you need a ride?"

            Julia hesitated. "No, I can't. I'll... just stay here."

            "Well, okay, then..."

            Damn! The choir lady was headed for the stairs. He calmly walked up them, looking the other way, but all the while tasting her name in his mind: Julia, Julia. Should he talk to her? He could - 

            There was a crash. The girl - Julia! - turned, and so did he, to stare into the darkness of the corridor beyond the window. Who would be down there? It was just a storage - 

            Vicious.

            Spike walked at first and then ran, cursing when he couldn't see so well.

            "Hey," he shouted. "Hey! Ugh, where the hell's the door..."

            "Come in, Spike."

            A rush of cold air. His heart beat faster at that voice; he'd never tell him, but Vicious really did scare him. And in the darkness, he couldn't see a thing - frozen, all he could do was listen. Vicious was his brother, he reasoned... Sure, he was morbid, and really kind of violent, but he'd never _hurt_ him...

            From the side. A point of steel was pressed to his ribcage, not quite hard enough to draw blood, but... yes, Vicious was there. His eyes adjusted a bit. The other boy's face was twisted into a horrid grin.

            He forced the words. "A - A new toy, huh?"

            "It draws blood."

            "Weapons in a church."

            "That saint didn't need it. He's already dead."

            "You stole it off a statue? How low of you."

            Vicious moved forward. "God isn't complaining."

            The green-haired boy smirked. "A little sacrilegious, aren't we, brother?"

            A pause. 

            "What did you call me?!"           

            Spike began to back toward the window. Something in his voice sounded dangerous, and made his breath come in short gasps - Vicious couldn't actually kill him, could he? That was ridiculous. He could run faster, anyway - 

            He tripped on a ledge, and fell. Wincing, he looked up - and Vicious stood over him, the top of the sword placed at his heart. He swallowed.

            "You can't be serious."

            "_Brother..." Vicious all but growled, narrowing his eyes. "We're not __brothers, Spike."_

            A bit of blood dropped onto his face, and he noted it was not his own. He pulled himself backward until his shoulders rested against the window, and nervously looked through a clear patch to his right. It was a long way down.

            "The same blood runs through our veins." With a flourish, the other boy placed the sword in a scabbard slung under his new coat, then leaning down to stare his half-brother in the eyes. "That is all."

            As Vicious walked away, Spike passed a hand over his face, wishing he could erase the fear from it. He couldn't be afraid. Not Spike Spiegel; he couldn't disappoint his father - 

            But Vicious, Vicious was his son, too. Wasn't he? Wasn't he?

            He stood up shakily, controlling himself, and let his eyes wander briefly over the city in the distance. Rain clouds. Buildings, and the tower-like structure built on top of Annie's little store. In the parking lot of the cathedral, Julia got into the passenger side of a classic red convertible, and in the sienna dusk light slowly drove away.


	4. Worthless

Author's Note: This chapter starts off Vicious' point of view. It's pretty brief, since it's just an introduction, but I decided it was necessary once the war on Titan began. A big thank-you to all of my lovely reviewers, who I've neglected mentioning so far (sorry!): **Rachel2, Lady Razorsharp, I Smite Thee, Moonwhisper, and i won't tell. Your feedback is oh so loved. And thank you to everyone who reads this and doesn't review. ^_^**

Disclaimer: As always, I do not and have never owned Cowboy Bebop or its characters. And again, constructive criticism is appreciated.

**That Day as Well**

**by jadelitfireflies**

**Three. (Worthless.)**

            He woke to the sound of thunder.

            On Mars, it always rained but never thundered. His mother had told him it rained because Heaven was crying, but if it was crying, it certainly wasn't for him. All the same, the water ran down the outside of his small window, projecting a pattern on the far wall, shadows dancing in close proximity to the Bruce Lee poster and a small, white-framed clock.

            When they'd gotten back from church he'd stayed in his room, using the sink to try to scrub the bloodstains out of his shirt. Vicious' sword _had drawn some blood after all; a few spots by his left shoulder (in addition to the splotch near the middle of the shirt) made him ask the more disturbing set of questions: What had his brother been doing before he showed up? Why had he taken the sword to begin with? At least the second was half-way rhetorical._

            "Damned rats! Get out of here, you filthy things! Go on!"

            Groaning, he sat up. Annie's voice echoed throughout the house, and there was no way he could sleep through that. It took a few moments to will himself to rise, carefully opening and then closing his door, avoiding Vicious' room as his bare feet found a way down the staircase. Evidently, a few rats had been driven in by the rain, as Annie was attempting to shoo them out the open door with a broom.

            "You know, Annie, it might be good to keep up the house," he smirked. "You've got a business, and customers -"

            "Oh shut up, will ya? And put a shirt on, for God's sake. You'll catch something. Get out, you little devils!"

            "Well, if you want me to leave..."

            "Not you, you lunkhead. Oh, the hell with it." She slammed the door.

            "There was some thunder."

            She grimaced, running a hand through her damp hair. "I hope Mao gets home alright."

            "Where'd he go, anyway?" While he spoke, he ran his finger along the scarred edge of the table. "Annie?"

            "You know I can't tell you."

            "Well, I thought I'd try."

            There was silence for a moment, punctuated by a high-pitched shriek from somewhere in the house and the increasing patter of rain on their roof. The chandelier swung back and forth for no reason.

            "Well, when is he coming home?" he yawned.

            "I'll make dinner."

            He raised an eyebrow.  
            "Don't you have somewhere to go, Spike? Shouldn't you be doing something?"

            "I know when I'm not wanted." Grinning at her, he sauntered into the living room and threw himself into one of their old, orange chairs.

            As Annie clattered around in the kitchen, he focused his attention on their small TV. It was stuck on one channel, and through the static from a few other stations the picture was relatively clear even if the only show on right then was Big Shot. He'd always wondered about the bounty hunters... For the most part, his father had made it clear they were enemies of the syndicate because they were mercenaries. Mercenaries didn't have any honor, like a syndicate did, and when it came down to it, they were more of a threat than a police. As if anyone could threaten the Red Dragons.

            The peeled leather and stuffing was oddly comforting to his back. He leaned into the corner, placing his feet on the nearby table for support. Something dripped onto his face, but he didn't really care - look, he wanted to get back to sleep. When it dripped again, he turned away from it, and after a while he was asleep once more - 

            He'd heard him sneak past the door. It was ajar, of course, because it didn't close. He didn't trust them anyway. Sitting cross-legged in the far corner of his bed, he held the sword across his lap, staring at its sheath.

            He hated this place.

            The room, in itself, was wholly gray. The paint was cracked and peeling in places, exposing bits of the studs in the wall. One high window was covered mostly by metallic-colored blinds. Every so often the fan, which was off for the moment, would creak and then the blinds would rattle. Only a fraction of light showed in the place, causing everything to be bathed in a strangely preternatural blue glow.

            That woman was still yelling. So the rats had come in, had they? It didn't matter. He gripped the sheath a bit harder, tips of his fingers slowly turning white... He had been _abandoned_, dammit. The syndicate, he wanted. His father, he wanted. But his father was dead, damn him, and he had to share his... his life, everything important to him, with _Spike._

            Vicious was too angry to laugh. It was a cold anger, a vile anger - he wanted his half-brother dead. He'd studied the operation for years. It wasn't an accident, his showing up when they were sixteen. Spike knew it, he was sure; at sixteen, all potential members of the Red Dragons were given a test, an essentially pass or fail event. Failing meant everything to him. Failing meant death. The blinds rattled, and a bit of thunder echoed in the distance. Yes, he knew how to do this. He would wait.

            When he heard the soft sounds drawing nearer, he knelt forward a bit. Silent. In a short burst the footsteps would proceed, then stopping - it was listening, too. In the faintly luminescent darkness he watched it enter his room, pausing in the thin column of light where its eyes reflected green. Slowly, he unsheathed the sword a bit at a time. The rat made a squeaking noise, backing to the wall - did it sense him? He was fascinated, completely fascinated. And leaning over the side of his bed, lying on his stomach, he drove the tip of the sword straight down through the creature's neck. It didn't move after that.

            He bit his lip, grayish-white hair falling into his eyes. Tentatively, he reached for it... grasped it by the tail... and without a head, the body bled freely, drops of blood falling onto the weathered wood of his room floor and then disappearing. Was the wood absorbing it? It wasn't important. The body was, though, and resting his sword on the wall he grasped both legs and pulled at them, tugging violently until the skin began to rip away -

            "Mao! Oh, thank God. What happened to you?!"

            "Nothing, Anna, I'm fine..."

            Spike opened an eye. He wondered vaguely how much time had passed before deciding he didn't care. Listening, though - that was more interesting.

            "Did they sign it, Mao? No one shot at you, did they?" The sound of a chair scraping on tile. "Here, I made dinner. Spike! Food!"

            "Now Anastasia, you're not supposed to know about that," Mao chided. "No, they didn't sign it. I was shot at, of course, but no one hit me."

            Spike walked into the kitchen, taking Mao's appearance in calmly. At least the lasagna smelled good.

            "What happened to you?" he smirked. Plopping into another chair, he only generated odd looks. "What? Is there something on my face?"

            "Is that _blood_?!"

            Mao glanced at him sternly. "What have you been doing? And get Vicious down here; he has to eat, you know."

            "Can't Annie just yell at him?"

            "Vicious! Get your lazy butt down here!"

            "Anna, my head..."

            Spike couldn't take his eyes off the staircase. No one descended it, though... the ghost of his brother, still shut in his room, did not come down to meet them. Everyone waited. He began to grow nervous, swinging one leg back and forth, the chandelier light boring into his eyes, the lasagna still steaming in its tin foil palace - 

            "Spike, go get him."

            "I don't -"

            "Our food is getting cold," Annie huffed.

            He swallowed, and obeyed. Somewhere along the way he'd grown angry - Vicious had no right to make him afraid. He had no right to, at all. And so, while his heart pounded in his ears, he tried to deny the feeling, playing the situation over in his mind... He would knock, no, kick open the door. No, he'd knock. And he'd say...

            He froze, standing before the door. It was foreboding... ajar just a little, and there was no light coming from inside...

            "V..." He stopped and then paused to listen. He coughed. "...Vicious." No answer.

            Spike pushed open the door, stepping forward - what was that? _He'd stepped in blood. His eyes widened._

            "What is it?" Vicious growled. He couldn't see him yet.

            "Spike, Vicious, hurry up!"

            The sound startled him, and he accidentally hit the door open further with his shoulder. The head of a rat rested by his foot. 

            "_What the hell did you do?!"_

            "I skinned it." His... his brother wiped the blood from his hands onto the sheets, tossing the rat's body to the far wall. It slid to the ground. "It's a worthless creature."

            Spike stared at him in disbelief.

            "Your face is covered in blood, Spike."

            He felt nauseous, reaching up with one hand to touch his cheek. That meant... and the living room was right below Vicious'... He backed from the room.

            "D...dinner..."

            When the other boy used his sheathed sword as a support for standing up, he turned and walked to the stairs. It was an act of escape; he was fleeing, but he did it carefully, calmly. In the kitchen, the lasagna had already been eaten (His eyebrow quirked at that. He would have eaten that lasagna.) - a rat skittered to the door, where it remained - and the sound of thunder echoed again. Annie started on the dishes, and Vicious came down the stairs without washing his hands.

            _No one said anything about it._


	5. Unnecessary

Author's Note: After a long absence, I have returned! *crickets.* Mm... well. I've considered declaring this an AU because I'm having trouble working with the characters' ages. In this story, Lin is younger than Shin. The opposite is true in the anime. (I decided it would make more sense for Lin's loyalties to lie with Vicious if he was younger.) Also, Spike will be leaving the syndicate at 18 or 20... *sigh.* Anyway, thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far. ^_^

Disclaimer: I do not and have never owned Cowboy Bebop. I don't even own Alex or Jim. Alex is the guy in Ballad of Fallen Angels who is holding Faye hostage in the cathedral, and Jim can be any of the identical bartenders... ^.^ And, as always, constructive criticism is greatly, greatly appreciated.

**That Day as Well**

**by jadelitfireflies**

**Four. (Unnecessary.)**

            "So what classes are you in, Spike?"

            Shin's voice rose up to him from the cream-tiled floor where the boy was sitting, mingled with the shouts always present in the orphanage. He was leaned against the wall on the top bunk while Lin played with his shoelaces.

            "Math. English. Whatever else they teach in school."

            "Didn't you go?"

            "Yeah, I went." He kicked Lin's hands away gently. "Annie would've killed me if I didn't."

            "I'm in honors stuff with Vicious."

            He dismissed it. "Waste of time."

            Lin pouted, flopping over the side of the bed. "How come I'm not in anything with you?"

            "You're not even in middle school, Lin."

            "Besides," Spike grumbled, "I've got other things to worry about."

            "Like what?"

            "Syndicate stuff."

            "Ohh."

            Barks erupted from the hallway leading to the long room and a puppy tore through, skidding into a bed. Spike opened an eye - he'd been half-asleep during the entire conversation - to watch lazily.

            "Here, boy! C'mere, Spike!"

            He sat up. "Ehh..."

            The dog ran to Shin, jumping up at him happily, and then hid behind him. Lin hopped to the floor.  
            "Oh, Spikey, were they being mean to you again?" He tugged at Spikes - the other Spike's - ear.

            "Wait a minute here... that dog... is Spike?"

            Shin smiled, crouching down to the puppy's level. "We didn't name him, Spike."

            "Spike's a dog-name," Lin giggled.

            "Hey! I'm not going to have some stupid anim..."

            They hesitated as Alex, one of the bullies at their school, walked in. Spike frowned in annoyance - the kid was smoking. How was that fair? If he couldn't without getting caught -

            "Where is that little shit?!"

            The puppy whimpered slightly. The two brothers surrounded it, protecting... and Spike noticed from where he was laying the burn marks on its fur.

            "You." Alex stared angrily at Lin, who was pouting again. "Where's the dog?"

            Spike didn't move. What business of his was it, anyway?

            "I - " the boy's chin quivered."I don't know."

            "Don't lie to me, kid!"

            "Leave him alone!" 

            Shin stood to his full height. It was a few inches shorter than the boy before him; at seventeen, Alex had passed the syndicate's final test a year or two early. Rumors said he'd already been set up as a low-level assassin, and of course everyone younger believed it. All Spike saw was the coat, the Red Dragons' coat... Alex wore it everywhere... he never took it off...

            "What did you say? Stay out of this."

            The puppy whimpered again. _Stupid dog_...

            Spike watched as Alex pushed the two out of the way. Shin stood back up, squaring his shoulders, and Lin sat in front of the dog, which was now under the bed.

            "I said to leave him alone!" Why was Shin doing all of this over a dog? He was trying to be brave, but why? "What did he ever do to you?"

            "That little bastard ate my shoes!"

            The green-haired boy blinked. Yes, Alex's shoes had been chewed on. He snorted in mirth.

            "Why, how terrible that must have been," Spike said sarcastically. Why had he said something? Geh...

            "That you, Spiegel?" A stare in reply. "Heh. We should teach these brats a lesson!"

            "Thanks, but I think I'll have to pass."

            "What?" While Alex spoke, Shin smiled. "You think you're better than me, Spiegel? You're as pathetic as the rest of us, damn you." Spike sat up fully. "That's it, Spiegel! Come on! You can't stay a pansy -"

            He was silenced by Spike's sudden movement, catapulting backward as the boy's foot connected with his head. He crashed into the bed behind him - its hinges screeched in protest - and Spike gripped him by the neck. Alex's cigarette fell to the floor.

            Startled, he hesitated. "You -"

            "No; I'm not like you. Shit yes, I'm better than you. You're _just like Vicious_."

            Lin's eyes widened. What did that mean, huh? Vicious was like Alex? But Vicious had never hurt him or Shin - he hadn't hurt Spike - 

            "Spike," Shin warned, "you have to let him go."

            It soon became a non-issue. Alex punched him in the chest and Spike let go, wheezing.

            "Little bastard." The larger boy scowled, straightening his coat, and walked out of the room. "You stay the hell away from me."

            "Spike, you okay?"

            When Shin clapped him on the shoulder - as if in congratulation - he felt drained. The pain in his chest reached for him, bringing him back to reality... Why had he done that? Why had he even gotten angry? Worse: if Vicious was stronger than him, hadn't that been a compliment? He swallowed in a haze.

            "C'mere, Spikey..." Lin cooed it to the space under the bed, but the dog wouldn't come out. Spike's head jerked to the side only slightly.

            "What time is it?"

            Shin's hand came off his shoulder. "It looks about five."

            He nodded once before leaving.

* * *

            Vicious leaned against the dumpster, staring. They'd been out of school for a while now (a few hours?), and he'd seen most of the kids leave - Spike and Shin had walked by, his half-brother glaring icily... Well, Shin waved. It didn't matter. There wasn't any reason for him to wave, anyway. Where was she?

            The fence sat a few yards away - maybe twenty - bordering about the school... It sounded briefly, rattling about the hinges. And was that her? The girl, the chapel girl? It was cloudy but wasn't raining. The filtered sunlight hung by her hair, turning the blonde to a greenish-grayish color. He couldn't decide.

            When she walked past him, he waited a moment. He placed his glasses in his shirt pocket. Vicious exhaled deeply and swung out onto the sidewalk, shadowing her.

            The girl began to walk faster. His gray hair marred the focus of one eye - could she sense him? Was she afraid? Her arms trembled slightly, gripping her books - hair swept off her shoulders from rushing - he snickered, amused. Affectionate. (Chiding.)

            - She stopped, as did he.

            "Please don't... follow me any longer."

            His eyes widened in anger. Was she really that stupid? She would address him without turning?

            "You're too polite." He refused to catch up with her if she wouldn't face him. "You should have seen if I was dangerous."

            "I did see."

            He scowled. "I could have killed you."

            "Don't flatter yourself, Vicious," she said over her shoulder, mocking him. She turned to him then.

            "Julia."

            "You're not wearing your glasses."

            They began walking together, accepting mutual defeat. His hands fit neatly in his jeans pockets; the fabric of his white-and-blue checked shirt bunched up around his wrists as he walked. Julia's pants and coat were brown, causing it to seem as if she were wearing a tunic - the bottom of both articles billowed out and shifted with the wind, canvas-like.

            "You're coming with me," she commented after a moment.  
            He didn't miss a beat. "Where are you going?"

            "It doesn't matter. Home."

            "You have one?"

            Silence. Julia turned down an alley and the sudden lack of sunlight bathed them in a shade of blue - just where was she going? There was a door, and she was opening it, but that didn't mean anything. He followed her inside without a word but hung back by the doorway, and as his eyes adjusted to the room he found himself staring at a pool table; near the side wall, a bar. Interested, he blinked at her.

            She ignored him. "Jim? Jim!"

            A man came from around a corner, drying his hands. "Ah, what's up, kid?"

            "Is the game still on for Thursday?"

            "Sure is." Jim nodded to Vicious. "Who's your friend?"

            Vicious stared at him for a moment before looking sideways. Julia paused, adjusting the striped balls in the triangle until they were all straight.

            "You know the policy," she said slyly, and - in tacit understanding - they exited the place.

            Quiet. They didn't really need to say anything, did they? Did she already know about his brother? The syndicate? Could she tell by the way he handles himself - the way he spoke and acted, the way his shoes scuffed against the sidewalk slightly, expressing more than words - that he had been destined from birth only to kill? She could tell, couldn't she... It was unspoken (wasn't it?) but she could tell he was really just a stray animal, and she couldn't get rid of him... couldn't ever get rid of him...

            And her? Her? His hair brushed against the side of his face, and he resisted the urge to swipe it out of the way. If he moved, he'd risk it... her saying something... reprehensible... 

            At the street corner, they paused to wait for a few cars to pass by. As the sign suddenly flashed white, the small figure of a person their signal to continue, he broke away his half from the pair and, in his - their shared - silence willed himself to return to the one place he felt the least welcome. (Welcome? What was that?)

            The Yenrai Household.


End file.
